Drawcia's Apprentice
by SubspaceDreamer14
Summary: Created from the fury of a lonely painter, the Sorceress Drawcia sets out to transform the galaxies into her painting, The Power Paintbrush in her possession. However, someone stands in the way of her success - a Star Warrior named Kirby. The witch decides that the only way to stop this from occurring is to kidnap the child from Pop Star and raise him as her Little Apprentice.
1. Prequel - The Birth of the Witch

**A/N: Hello, dear readers! This is the prequel to the actual story; this is just an origin story for Drawcia. The man is an OC, but I don't think he'll make another appearance in the story. Enjoy!**

_PS: The incredible cover was created by Mikoto-chan! Be sure to check out her gallery - it's adorable! ^_^_

The man lives in a cottage that looks out to the sea. There is no one nearby; the roar of the waves and the frequent (and rather annoying) squawks from the local sea birds are his only companion. He doesn't mind, though.

He is awake earlier than usual, which is strange as he (as normal) had nowhere he needed to be. The man watches the night sky begin to fade away to make way for the brilliant light of day. In a way, it was rather rude – could the Sun be a little more patient and wait for the Moons to descend?

This man is an artist, evident by the permanent colours on his fingers and the chalk in his unwashed hair. He eyes his canvases… his crafts… his _disasters_. Sketches are crumpled, strewn throughout his one-room home, waiting to be stepped on or torn to pieces like the others. Works are half-complete, left for the moss and dust. The pastel landscape he had started days earlier – now ruined with intentional streaks of black charcoal. The artist cringes, wondering why such a monstrosity had managed to channel through his filthy fingers and onto his canvas.

_Have I run my course?_ He wonders rubbing an aging hand over a wrinkly face, _has my talent, my creativity, all but vanished? _Once more, he watches the battle between the night and day – the stars have begin to disappear, the Moons now above his cottage by the sea.

A surge of energy.

His aging heart leaps, beating uncontrollably.

His eyes widen.

An 'O' forms in his mouth.

This feeling… this wonderful feeling he so desperately craves…

_Inspiration_.

The artist throws himself from his bed, knocking over an overflowing container with handcrafted pencils and chewed pencils. He makes his way to the cabinet, kicking away the inferior pieces underneath a cobwebbed bed. As he opens the drawers, piles of beads and pottery spill over the edges and into the cracks of the floor, never to be retrieved. The artist surveyed his arsenal of art weapons and colours.

Purple – no, _lavender_.

Pink – no, _wisteria._

_ Silver_.

_ Celeste_.

_Maize._

All in _pastels_.

Frantically, as to not lose a single drop of inspiration, the artist yanks out a beaten wooden case and a black canvas from the top of the cabinet. Shoving away anything that would hinder his work, he sets the canvas on his easel, and begins to sketch with a white pencil. _There will be many curves, _he decides, _it will be whimsical, magical…_ He decides that he will draw a woman. He begins with her dress.

A woman…. He suddenly recalls his wife. His grip grows tighter. The man sneers as the cloak becomes a little more pointed. That awful woman – she couldn't appreciate the work he put into his paintings. Somehow, she felt that she must be the centre of attention. "Drawing pictures with a stick does nothing for me," she had whined on numerous occasions.

What was going to be a silver braid suddenly became a mess of grey tangles.

His ex-wife, his stupid ex-wife – he still didn't understand why she wanted to leave the ocean. She had mentioned something along the lines of loneliness, but he hadn't exactly recalled what she had meant. Personally, the surrounding solitude was good enough for him, but not for her.

Unintentionally, the man draws a mask over the woman's mouth.

To top it off, she had the nerve to make him choose between his art and her. "I can't stand competing with a paintbrush any longer. Choose." Her devious little mind tried to trick, made him blind to his passion, but in the end his common sense reigned. She left him, and soon met another man.

A twisted hat replaces a simple beret.

The artist colours his piece, fuelled with jealously, anger – all channelled onto the canvas with a surge of inspiration. The day has begun – it is cloudy and miserable. He does not look at the piece as a whole until it is complete. When he decides he is done, his eyes grow at his creation.

A_ witch_.

It is not human – simply a blob with two eyes; one is hidden, or perhaps nonexistent. The creature wears a multicoloured cloak with dyed tips with zigzagged edges. It is connected to a mauve piece of cloth with two gold claps. White hair flows from the scalp.

The man can't help but think she is beautiful.

He decides to name her Drawcia.

Perhaps… he looks a locked chest – the only clean object in his entire home. Maybe he should-

He shakes the idea from his head. No, he couldn't. The Brush held too much power. Every time he had used it only resulted in disaster. Leviathans brought to life, his creations roaming the world free; the answer was simple, it was too dangerous.

But….

He cannot stop himself as he unlocks the multiple locks surrounding the casket. The man knew that he couldn't be lonely anymore. He needed someone, _anyone_, to keep him company until his death.

He wouldn't die alone.

He couldn't.

Crouching into the box, he heaves out The Power Paintbrush (supposedly crafted by these mysterious beings known as the "Ancients"). He still wasn't sure why it was still in his possession, but he was glad he hadn't thrown it back into the sea. The man caresses the wooden, flawless handle, running his fingertips through the psychedelic brush. He looks at the woman, and back to the brush.

He would grant life to his creation.

The creator walks back to the canvas, the Brush shaking in hands. With a delicate yet firm hand, he brushes the witch lightly with the rainbow bristles. The witch begins to pop from the painting, trying to escape into the 3D dimension. A smile begins to form on his lips, and he continues to brush the canvas over and over again until he can touch the pastel sorceress.

He steps the back, dropping the Brush onto the floor with a clatter. The witch had left the painting and now floated before him.

He cannot contain his joy, and begins to ramble to the enchantress – her name, her creator, his lonely life, and how he couldn't wait to be friends until the end of time. The witch doesn't move, doesn't smile (as she has no mouth). Eventually, the witch grows bored with the conversation, and pushes the man aside, picking up the Power Paintbrush, testing its powers. The man panics, trying to calm the witch.

Suddenly, with a wave of the Brush, the man is thrown to the other side of the room, colliding with a row of canvases and art supplies. A hole is bored through his wooden shack. He is too old, too weak to move. The witch approaches him, this time a light is forming in the Brush. Somehow, she was capable of unlocking its full capabilities. The man doesn't understand why this is happening. Why had his creation turned against him like the others?

_Fuelled with anger_.

The Power Paintbrush had channelled his fury into his painting.

The enchantress cackles. It is an awful sound, the wet paint gurgling in her scratchy voice. She runs the Brush around the house like a child with a new toy. The wood glosses over, transforming into stiff acrylic paint. The paintings fly in every direction, smashing against the walls. The man attempts to escape through the window, but it is too late – the tempera had already dried.

It doesn't matter anyway – his skin transforms into a hot wax and melts through the floorboards.

The witch laughs at the wreckage she caused, shaking and swaying her newfound Paintbrush with delight. The world was her canvas – completely under her control. Drawcia slips from the home, leaving the pile of goo that was once a man behind. She strikes the land with the Power Paintbrush, which ejects a rainbow splash onto the sea. The salt waters had now transformed into a blue watercolour mess. The tropical fish were altered as well – their scales were now colourful slivers of dry paint, their fins made up of a thin wisp of acrylic thinner. The ocean splashes over the chalk sea before retreating back to the encaustic ocean.

She cannot contain her joy and laughs again, this time pointing her precious Paintbrush to the sky. The sun begins to distort as it drops melted yellow acrylic onto the land below. The clouds become stiff, a charcoal lining forming around the edges. The sky loses its warmth, becoming nothing more than a dull grey mass in the air.

When Drawcia feels her masterpiece is complete, she raises her Brush one last time. Two golden rings form around the hand carved handle and slowly make their way to the flawless bristles. A light forms at the tip before forming a black, spiralling swirl – a black hole. Her newly-painted world begins to stretch, pulling away from its third dimension. Soon, the mountains do not seem as far away from the demolished cabin, nor the sea. The black hole grows. There is no depth in the rolls of the sea. The Paintbrush begins to shake in the young witch's hands. The spherical planet is pulled outwards; it is now becoming a flat circle. At last, the warped world settles. There is no longer any true perspective in her creation.

It is now a two-dimensional painting, hers for the keeping.

The witch cackles a distorted, satisfying laugh.

She was in control.

For one more time, she shrinks the enormous canvas to a pocket size and tucks it away in her cloak. After all, it was hers and hers alone – she had given life to an old, decrepit world.

Perhaps she can do the same to other worlds in need. Now floating in the reaches of space, she admires the endless stars, planets and distant galaxies… all which desire her artistic flair. Soon, the entire universe may be her for the taking. But how would she do this…?

She suddenly recalls how she was brought to life – the Paintbrush. That man – that aging, worthless, needy man – he had his wish granted from something called The Galactic Nova.

The witch groans, a rather strange and grotesque sound from her dripping lips. She would have to find a source of power to awaken The Galactic Nova. She paces for a moment, wondering how she could ever convince the Galactic Nova-

Drawcia stops and watches her twirling, almighty Paintbrush.

She chuckles.

Perhaps a mere demonstration would be convincing.

With a single stroke, she forms a dimensional portal which will take her directly to the Galactic Nova. With a burst of speed (and one more ear-splitting laugh), she slices through the dimensions to begin her Master Plan.

**A/N: Hey there, fellow readers and writers, thanks for checking out my story, I hope you enjoyed it! If you had any commments, suggestions, ideas, or questions regarding the story, please tell me! I love to chat and I love to hear what you think! Also, criticism would be greatly appreciated, especially in regards to structure, format, grammar/spelling, and repeating phrases too often (this is something I really want to improve on).**

**As for chapter updates, my schooling can get a little hectic, so I can't promise weekly updates, but hopefully there will be a chapter or two a month.**

**See you soon!**

**_- SSD14_**


	2. Chapter 1 - Emerald Enigma

**Well... I'm finally back...**

**-Six and a half months later...**

**I'm so sorry for the delay for this chapter. As I stated to one of my reviewers, I experimented with the different colours this story could take on, before releasing the chapters. I'm still a bit unsure, but now I have a pretty good idea of how I want it go. That being said, please feel free to give me ideas for how you think it will end, correct me on poor grammar, or even tell me what you think so far.**

**Thank you to _lililop, darkstar33, and popo1212123 _for reviewing chapter one! Everyone made me squeal with glee and helped the creative juices flow. As well, thank you _popo1212123, Valkereye, Lord Metallex, Kirbyhammer100, and Gcatthewonderful_ for favouriting, and thank you to my story followers, _popo1212123, Valkereye, Gcatthewonderful, and DustinWayneWood_. You guys are awesome! :D**

**~ SSD14**

**As for any new readers, welcome! ^_^ I hope you enjoy Chapter One and Two of _Drawcia's Apprentice._**

The Galactic Nova was fast asleep, its pendulum motionless, its glass eyes shut, its compartments silent and unmoving. Drawcia swings her brush back and forth in elegant but meaningless switches – how does one awake the Galactic Nova? An energy source would be required to power Nova's wish, but what could she supply?

She glances at her paintbrush. Perhaps a threat would do the trick.

"Awaken, Nova!" She spits, trying out her voice. Her voice box has dried, but it sounds just as menacing and distorted. "Or, face my power and destruction!" Drawcia sits in the dead of space, waiting for a response.

Nothing.

"I shall offer you no mercy, Nova!" She cries.

Nothing.

Frustrated. She snaps the brush against its cheek, a wave of energy emitting from the tips of the brush. She wonders if she can use that as the power source, and aims her wand at the Galactic Nova's. A wisteria ring circles the brush. Drawcia swings up, releasing the attack aimed at the Nova's lightbulb. It flickers into a steady purple illumination. And then… nothing.

Drawcia watches her creator intensely, waiting for a reaction, any reaction.

_CRIK_. The eyes begin to squint open, revealing two cerulean pupils. The eyeballs shift back and forth, grinding against the gold sockets. The eyes focus on the seven watercolour stars. _CRAK. _The globe begins to rotate at a slow pace. The keys of the piano move up and down, though they produce no noise. The turning of the gears grow louder and louder. The compass spins, trying to decide on a direction. Its golden pendulum swings back and forth, taking in this new source of power.

The light bulb illuminates.

And with a sudden rush of energy, The Galactic Nova springs into action. The gears spin almost erratically. Sounds and melodies of music are produced from its core. The globe will not stop spinning. Drawcia smirks. Her plan had worked.

Its humongous eyes focus on the colourful little witch, perhaps judging her. Drawcia almost felt it was looking at her core (which, for all she knew, was a ball of dried-up paint). Then finally, and without opening its cat –like mouth, the Galactic Nova states one word:

**_READY_**

The witch spins her wand threateningly, her eyes fixated on the machine's cat-like mouth, "I wish to turn the universe into my canvas, and for me to become Queen on all the galaxies!"

The Galactic Nova blinks, contemplating the wish. The pause seems to last an eternity,

**_YOUR WISH IS BEYOND MY CAPABILITIES_ I CAN ONLY OFFER ADVICE_**

Drawcia was furious. She had bothered to greet this monstrosity in person, and now it was refusing to grant her wish, "I demand that my desires are met! You cannot reject my demands!" She decrees, swishing her Paintbrush fruitlessly.

The Nova ignores her complaints, and rolls its glass eyes into their sockets. A flash of bright light later, Drawcia was given the ability to see into the future. She saw a collection of thousands of paintings in her possession. The dark matter of space was under her artistic control. The Paintbrush seems more powerful than ever.

The Nova speaks in an echo-y voice,

**_YOU HAVE THE POWER TO RULE THE GALAXIES AND BEYOND_ YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED IMMORTALITY TO COMPLETE YOUR TASK_YOU WILL RULE ALL THAT THE POWER PAINTBRUSH TOUCHES…_**

"Of course I will!" Drawcia interrupts, with a grin so wide the corners of her mouth can be seen over her cloak – she was destined to rule the moment her brush gave her life. "Get on with it, then!"

**_BUT _**

"But what, you mismatch of metal chunks?" She cries. A new image forms… it is a strange pink creature with tiny red feet. Its sky blue eyes twinkle with childhood and innocence – Drawcia sneers.

**_YOU WILL COME ACROSS A CREATURE NAMED KIRBY. _HE IS CURRENTLY WANDERING THE UNIVERSE, BUT HE WILL EVENTUALLY FIND A PLANET NAMED POPSTAR. _ONCE YOU MEET THIS CREATURE _ YOUR TAKE-OVER WILL COME TO AN END_**

Drawcia's fury rose so high, her face began to melt, her beaded eyes filling with anger. Her matted sliver hair flies out of control, twisting into painful knots. Her ungodly scream could have been heard light years away. She swings her Brush around, emitting missiles of muddy ink every which way. The Galactic Nova only watches, completely unfazed by her behaviour.

When she is satisfied with her tantrum, she brings her body to a calm and demands, "Tell me how to stop this _Kirby_, Nova." Moments later, it answers.

**_ONCE YOU MEET KIRBY ON POPSTAR, YOUR FATE WILL BE SEALED_ HOWEVER_IF KIRBY FINDS HIS WAY TO POP STAR_YOU WILL BE POWERLESS AND TRAPPED WITHIN YOUR PAINTING AGAIN_**

She shivers at the idea of being encased in her lifeless canvas, and wields her Brush, "Then tell me."

She receives no reply.

The Galactic Nova had stopped moving. The gears were silent, the globe only creaking slightly as it comes to a halt. The violet eyes were closed, as though her conversation was all but a dream. Its image wavers against the black space, and soon it vanishes to another part of the galaxy, as though it had never existed in that space. Drawcia waits, as if expecting him to return again.

When she finally surrenders to the galaxy's silence, she cries out once more before taking off through the galaxies in search of this Planet Pop Star …and this _Kirby_ who dares to stand in her way.


End file.
